Don't Wanna Be Dinner
by CeCe Away
Summary: Sometimes even when he's hurt, it's Sam's turn to save his brother. Hurt!Sam Limp!Dean Overprotectiveness from both.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: Don't own a thing. Making no profit. Simply amusing myself cuz I can. If you find yourself amused too, then good on ya. **

**This is just another hunt gone wrong story. **

**Don't Wanna Be Dinner**

This was messed up.

Just a rugaru. Find its hunting ground, burn the sucker, then maybe get a bite to eat before crashing at the motel. Dean wasn't supposed to become dinner.

And he sure as hell wasn't supposed to be decorating a cave wall like some prehistoric hieroglyphic, pinned by the hardened saliva of the creature he had been hunting. Crap, did it smell. That's the first thing Dean noticed when he'd entered the dark cave's chamber. That and the scattered bones. Lots and lots of bones. And discarded back packs, coolers, brief cases and purses. Purses? Just how far into the city did this thing go to hunt?

Balancing the rigged propane torch and flashlight in one hand, Dean pulled his phone out, uncertain he could even get a signal down here to let Sam know the tunnel's fork he'd followed was where the beast enjoyed its meals and for Sam to backtrack toward him when a guttural rumble vibrated behind his left shoulder, washing hot rancid breath across the side of his face.

Dean's lips quirked up. He loved it when they came out in the open. It made his job easy, none of that hide and seek crap, just come to papa. Spinning, he stepped back and blasted the rugaru with a spray of flame.

Except . . .

The fire just danced over it. Dean's eyes widened, his head craning up, way up, to take in the full height of—whatever the hell it was. Not a rugaru, that's for damn sure. Scaly, gray, large, the freaking creature of the black lagoon, and apparently fire resistant.

The stream of fire spent, Dean dropped the torch and whipped the pistol out from the back of his jeans to fire round after round into the advancing creature's chest even as the beast plowed into him like an enraged bull, carrying him backwards to smash against the rock wall. The hit left him momentarily stunned, shaking his head until the first spout of saliva hit him, spraying across his chest. He grimaced against the stench, fisted his hands to pummel the beast holding him against the wall, but—dammit! His arms wouldn't move.

The thing was still spitting out a fine spray of . . . gross stinky stuff . . . splattering all over Dean's body, tightening as it hardened around him. _Shitshitshitshit._ Bunching his muscles, Dean pushed against the encasing saliva, trying to dislodge himself.

The creature lowered its head to Dean's, pulling back bloodless lips over sharp stiletto teeth. "Breath mints, buddy," Dean said, turning his head to get as far away from those teeth as he could, but the beast just moved in closer, moist leathery heat wafting onto Dean's cheek.

Tense moments passed all the while a chant scrolled through Dean's brain-_don't eat me don't eat me don't eat me-_until the thing shifted back_._

Dean watched as the monster went to the other side of the cave where the wall was uneven. The beam of his dropped flashlight slanted across the darkness. His heart gave a little jolt. Oh, man, he hadn't noticed before. All around him were people- corpses?- pinned to the cave wall in these freakish saliva cocoons. Most of them were old, rotting, the cocoons torn through to get to tender stomachs that were also ripped out. Dean was going to vomit. Whatever this thing was, it liked its meals tenderized and aged. This wasn't just the feeding ground, this was a friggin pantry.

"No, no, no, aaaaaah!" a weak voice screamed out from the guy the beast had gone to on the opposite wall. Had to be Bill Gentry, the second missing guy that had first gained Sam's attention in the Louisiana paper to a possible hunt.

"Leave him alone!" Dean shouted, jerking when he heard bones snap and Bill's whimperings went silent. Dean squinted, trying to see what was happening in the low light, and then wished he didn't as the scaly creature turned, holding Bill's severed arm in overly long swollen knuckled fingers like a man would hold a watermelon. The sharp teeth stripped flesh from the bone like a heaping southern portion of pulled pork.

Unable to watch, Dean tilted his gaze up to the sloping ceiling, wishing he could eliminate the sound of sucking and swallowing as easily. In frustration, he tried to form a fist inside the shell, punch his way out, but he couldn't so much as twitch his fingers. This was bad. This was real bad. He was stuck to the wall, a munchie on display like the giant-assed creature's personal vending machine and Sam was out there in the tunnels with no warning about what they were really up against . . . and worse, it was getting hard to breathe. Damn saliva was pressing tighter around him as it hardened.

He could yell, warn Sam that fire wasn't going to cut it. Problem was, he didn't know what would work on the thing, nor did he really want to bring the swamp lizard's attention back to himself without even knowing if Sam was within hearing distance. His head felt light, body tingly. He forced his eyes to remain open and locked his gaze on the entrance he thought Sam would come through. First glimpse of that overly long hair and Dean was going to start shouting.

#

"Hey. Hey."

Dean lifted his eyelids to more darkness, striped in muted flashlight beams.

"Thank God." Sam's face was just below his own, forehead lined in concentration, liquid eyes spilling over with worry. "Dean, stay with me. What the hell is this stuff?"

Dean felt the back of Sam's callused fingers curl by his cheek as he pulled a broken piece of the cocoon away from his face. The muggy cave air felt cool on his skin where the hard saliva had just been. The piece thudded to the floor where Sam dropped it and inserted his fingers between Dean's neck and the shell, attempting to rip it. The noise brought Dean's foggy mind into focus.

His eyes darted around the cave. "Did you get it?"

Sam shook his head, his lips pulled tight in concentration. "The rugaru? No sign of it. This isn't working." Sam pulled his hands back, dragged his palms along his forehead. "I need something to pry it off."

"Sam."

"Something that won't hurt you."

"Sam." Dean's voice was weak, but impatient, finally gaining Sam's attention. "It's not a rugaru."

Sam's gaze met his, studied the warning Dean tried to convey with his hard expression. "Okay, obviously." Sam went back to trying to pry the cocoon off with his hands. "Cause this stuff isn't from any rugaru. Wendigo either. What is this crap? How'd it get on you?"

"It's saliva, Sam."

Sam froze. Instinctively his hands snapped back. His brows squished together even as they rose up to be lost beneath his long bangs. "Uh, that's . . . gross. Saliva? Eeww. Really?"

"Listen, Sam." Dean's chest was heaving. It was getting more difficult to pull in a breath. His body wanted to shut down, sleep. "The thing's huge. Fire didn't touch it. My bullets bounced off it like rubber."

"Silver?" Sam pulled another chunk away and brought it to his nose. His face scrunched upon itself as though he was trying to place the scent.

"Didn't get a chance, but I doubt it. I don't know how to kill it. I don't know what the thing is. Sam, you know what you have to do."

"Yeah." Sam's head swung up. "Get you out of here."

"Not enough time. It could be back any moment." Dean ignored the stubborn forward tilt of Sam's head. He felt like wiping his hand across his own face except his hands were pinned. "Have you looked around? Noticed the decorating scheme of the place?"

Sam grimaced. "I noticed."

"Then you know whatever this thing is likes its food rotting. I have time here. But I won't if you go and get yourself caught." He could tell by the way the tightness around Sam's mouth loosened that the logic was winning him over. "You need to get far enough out that your cell can get a signal, call Bobby, then you and him can come save my ass. Trust me, I'll still be hanging around."

"Sounds like a good plan, Dean, except . . ." Ah, crap. Every one of Sam's facial muscles had firmed up again. "Not chancing it."

"Sam."

"No. No way."

"You're a stubborn bitch, you know that?"

Sam lowered and started rummaging through the pack that he'd dropped near his feet by his own propane torch.

Dean thumped his head back against the cave wall. "I'd leave your ass here."

Unsatisfied with his search, Sam started going through the belongings scattered around the floor. "Yeah, tell me another one." He upended a woman's purse, pulled papers from a briefcase, opened the old cooler, then kicked it over in frustration, spilling water and an unopened six pack of coke. "Dammit." He went back over to Dean, started tearing at the hard cocoon again. Tendons in his arms stood out.

"Sam." Dean's eyes were slipping closed. "Getting Bobby's our best option. Just go."

"Not leaving you so just shut up." Lips tight, Sam drew his knife out from his boot.

That snapped Dean's eyes open. "What are you gonna do with that?"

"Hopefully not cut you."

"Hopefully?"

One side of Sam's lips hitched up in a half smile. "Pressure points. Trust me?"

Dean's brows winged up into pointed arches. "Do I have a choice?"

Blowing out a breath, Sam pulled his Baretta from the back of his waistband. "Nope." Placing the tip of his blade near where Dean's right arm should be, he tapped the handle with the butt of the gun into the shell.

Dean looked down at his chest, holding his breath, trusting that his brother knew what he was doing. "Hey, I get dibs on naming the sucker, right?"

"What?" Sam moved the knife to the other side and began tapping.

"You know, like when a new species of plant is found. The guy that finds it, gets to name it."

Sam glanced up at him through his bangs. "You want to name the monster?"

"Hell, yeah." Dean grimaced. "I'm the first person to see it and live. Man, I hope I live."

The tapping paused. Silence thrummed through the air for a beat. "You'll live." Sam moved the blade again and this time the tapping seemed to be a little more forceful. A muscle jumped in Sam's clenched jaw. "So what are you going to name it?"

"Oh, I don't know—Sam! Look out!"

The creature loomed out of the darkness directly beside Sam. They'd had no warning. Stealthy bastard hadn't made a sound. Whirling at Dean's cry, Sam flipped the pistol around and emptied his rounds into the beast's chest point blank with no effect. One of the bullets ricocheted, lodging into the cocoon holding Dean. Sam cried out, but whether at the bullet or the uselessness of the gun, Dean couldn't tell. Sam's eyes were huge, his neck craned back to take in the enormity of the monster towering over him, at the long arm that slashed across Sam's chest in a swipe so forceful it spun the young hunter through the air. Knife and gun clattered against stone.

"Sammy!" Dean strained at the hard saliva pinning him as his brother crashed to the cave floor among partially eaten bones and discarded belongings. Angry red gashes scored Sam's flesh from shoulder to navel beneath his shredded T-shirt. Shaking his head, obviously disoriented, Sam tried to get up, but the monster was on him again, lifting Sam high over its head and running with him to slam the young man against the wall. "Sammy! Sam!"

"Arghhhh!" Every muscle in Dean's body strained to get loose, get to his brother before that thing killed Sammy. He felt the sweat break out around him. _Oh God, oh God. No. _ Horrified, he could only watch as the beast spat saliva across Sam's neck. Okay, okay, it was saving him for later. That shouldn't make Dean feel better, but it did, gave them some time at least, except Sam's chest was ripped open from here to Sunday and the kid would probably bleed out. "Sammy!" Dean bunched his arms again . . . and felt some give. He pushed some more. He looked down. Tiny splinters were cracking across the cocoon. Sam's pressure points! Exhaling, Dean pushed out with every part of his body. "Sam, stay still. I'm coming!"

But Sam wasn't staying still. He was shoving against the scaly beast, punching, kicking, though his feet dangled above the ground. The young hunter was putting up the fight of his life. Having enough of it, the beast subdued Sam in pure animal fashion. Teeth clamped over Sam's already wounded shoulder.

The kid's scream reverberated around the stone walls, drilling like an auger into Dean's chest.

Sam's arms dropped to his sides. His legs stopped gouging the wall behind him for purchase. Dean's heart was ready to burst through his chest. His mind replayed the image of the creature chowing down on Bill Gentry's severed arm with those same teeth that were ripping into Sam. Dean's chest rose and fell against the cocoon. Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear his eyes away from the back of the beast covering his brother who hung limp and lifeless in its grasp. In its mouth.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Still own nada. **

**Don't Wanna Be Dinner chapter 2**

Sam's arms dropped to his sides. His legs stopped gouging the wall behind him for purchase. Dean's heart was ready to burst through his chest. His mind replayed the image of the creature chowing down on Bill Gentry's severed arm with those same teeth that were ripping into Sam. Dean's chest rose and fell against the cocoon. Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear his eyes away from the back of the beast covering his brother who hung limp and lifeless in its grasp. In its mouth.

Suddenly the ugly head lifted. Dean fully expected to see one of Sam's limbs dangling free, gasped when he didn't. Behind the creature, Sam's legs swayed in the air with the beast's jerky movement. Once more the creature lowered its head, and Dean held his breath, but the thing only sniffed. Sniffed all over the blood pouring from the wound it'd just made and with a snort of what Dean could only describe as distaste, the beast flung Sam away.

Demon blood, was Dean's first thought. The thing didn't like the taste of demon blood, and boy didn't that just make him want to laugh hysterically until the beast moved toward Sam again and Dean's instincts told him the creature was going to get rid of Sam in the same way a bear stomps on a fox that attempts to take up residence in its den.

"Hey! Hey, ugly!" He had to distract it. The big head turned toward him. "Yeah, you. Get your ugly carcass over here. Eat me. Eat me, you swampy sonofabitch." He flexed harder, more of the cocoon fell away. If he leaned just a little bit, he could free himself. "Yeah, that's right. Supper time. Come and get it." The creature paused, looked from Sam to Dean, uncertain. "Hey, over here. Focus on me! I taste good. _Crème de la crème._" _Get away from my brother, bitch._ It was working. Dean had its full attention now and it started walking toward him. Away from Sam.

Which was okay with Dean even when the monster came right up to him, snout lowering to his where the lips pulled back revealing teeth dripping with blood. Sam's blood. Blood that was startling red against the yellowed teeth and silky as the beast moved in so close that the mouth grazed his cheek, smearing his skin with sticky wetness. Dean closed his eyes, waiting for the piercing strike when the creature would rip his head off, and jerked when a spray of saliva slashed across his forehead instead.

Dean snapped his eyes open to the large open mouth that was spitting out a stream of saliva over his chest, resealing the cracks and pressure points Sam had worked so hard on. Dammit. Better than being instantly eaten, but still—dammit. Sam was hurt, maybe even . . . no, he wouldn't go there. How was he going to help his brother when he was trussed up like a caterpillar?

He coughed. His eyes were watering, his chest hurt. It was harder to breathe, and the smell . . . the stench alone could kill him. He jolted at the thought. It probably was. Whatever was in the saliva was probably what zapped his energy, made it difficult to breathe or stay awake, which only made him fight against it harder.

Finally the monster finished and shuffled away, out of the cave room, off to do whatever pressing business swamp creature monsters had to do.

Battling the way his eyelids wanted to droop, Dean looked to where the beast had tossed Sam. The interior was strewn with so many discarded belongings and bones and who knows what else, Dean couldn't see him. "Sammy!"

He listened for a moment, so intently that his pulse seemed to be banging in his ears. "Dammit, Sam, answer me!" Just a groan, mumble, anything to let him know his younger sibling was alive. Tears sprang to Dean's eyes that he was powerless to wipe away. "Come on, Sam," he whispered, choking up. "Give me something."

Then he saw it. Sam's hand. His wrist and arm. Pushed back cuff of that blue plaid shirt, poking out from behind a pile of bones and rotting rags, a camper's fancy backpack, rolled sleeping bag still attached to its frame.

Dean stared at the long fingers, willing them to move. "Sam!" A twitch, anything. C'mon, kiddo. "Sam, wake up. Sammy!"

Nothing.

Heartsick, Dean quieted. He stared at Sam's arm, the only sight he had of his younger brother. He watched for what felt like hours, though it was more likely less than twenty minutes. A deep plunging weariness overtook him, numbing him to the reality of his predicament. Let the damn swamp lizard come back, finish him. In fact, he wished it would hurry and get a move on.

He stared at Sam's hand for another eternity, not daring to look away.

"Mmmmph."

Dean's heart flared to life. The hairs on his arms stood on end, tingly against the hardness of the cocoon. He couldn't speak, afraid he only imagined he'd heard the moan.

Then the fingers curled.

Sam's fingers moved! Sam moved! More tears pooled in Dean's eyes, obscuring his vision. "Sam!" Dean's chest heaved on the name. "Sam!"

If he hadn't been pinned on the wall, his knees would have buckled, bringing him down. Dean stared, shaking as the young hunter's hand slipped back behind the debris, disappearing from sight before Sam's head popped up from behind the pile, hands bracing on the bones as he pushed himself to his feet where he swayed unsteadily, having to catch himself on the backpack where he simply held himself steady for a moment.

"Sam, be careful." With his brother on his feet, Dean felt like he could breathe again. "That thing's still out there."

Sam lifted his palm up in an I-got-this gesture, though it looked as though he was about to crash back down to the floor. Instead, he pushed away from the pack and stepped forward, staggering to the side before he caught himself. When he passed inside the flashlight beam, Dean choked down a gasp, seeing the whole extent of the damage. Sam's entire chest shone with blood. Dean couldn't tell where the material of his shirts ended and the flesh beneath began. It dripped down onto Sam's jeans. The kid was pumping out more of the liquid than he had to spare.

Sending Sam on ahead alone just became out of the question. He'd never make it. Dean had to get free to save his brother.

Sam stumbled, going down hard in a clatter of bones. Dean wrenched his gaze toward the entrance, expecting the creature of the black lagoon to suddenly appear. He glanced back to Sam, seeing his brother fight his way back to his feet, something clutched tight in his hand. His gun?

It took Sam a painstakingly long time to cross the small space, each step as agonizing to Dean as it must be for Sam, but finally the brothers were face to face, both panting with effort.

Dean took in the too pale skin, even more white compared to all the blood. "Are you hurt?"

Sam only blinked up at him with an are-you-insane glower.

"Yeah." Dean chuckled, on the verge of giddiness. "Stupid question."

Sam brought his hand up and Dean caught sight of a soda can. "Cola?" He felt like crying. Sam was so completely out of it he'd brought Dean something to drink.

It seemed to take Sam forever to lift his other hand where he tried several times to pop open the tab, but lifting the little piece of aluminum was beyond his ability. His brows pulled together over worried eyes.

"Sam, stop." Dean tried to make his voice as calm as he could. "You need to focus, man. Do that pressure point thing again. Do you think you can do that?"

Sam's eyes flicked up to Dean, annoyance flashing. "Alkaline, Dean. I knew the smell was familiar." His finger shook across the soda can. "Acid neutralizes alkaline . . . but I can't . . . even . . . open . . . a freakin . . . can!" He growled, than choked on a sob.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean assured him. "You can do it. Just take your time."

Sam nodded, steadied himself, went back to work. They both held their breath as Sam tried over and over to get his hands to work. Then finally a little click sounded as Sam snagged the tab back. His shoulders seemed to drop an inch in relief. Without waiting, Sam started pouring the drink on the cocoon. He barely emptied half the contents when suddenly he dropped.

Dean stretched his neck to see Sam on his butt, blinking rapidly, staring at the soda can in his hand like he had no idea what was going on. He looked up at Dean with a sheepish grin, which Dean returned until he felt the hot breath wash over the side of his face.

The creature was back, and Sam was right there on the ground. Right there where the monster couldn't miss him.

Once again, Dean demanded its attention. "Hey. Do it," Dean snarled. "Eat me you sonofabitch. Because I swear to God I'm going to rip your throat out on the way in."

The large mouth opened wide, jaws stretching back, cracking, bearing rows of teeth. Dean's eyes widened. Oh shit. It was really going to bite him this time. He pushed back as far as he could against the wall.

And suddenly Sam was there. On his feet. He shoved his entire fist into the open mouth, between the points of teeth, tipping the soda can, pouring the acidic drink deep into the throat. The creature roared, clamped its mouth shut on Sam's wrist. Sam screamed. Dean screamed, pushing against the cocoon. The beast swung its head, throwing Sam across the cave, then raced to where Sam fell.

"No!" Dean couldn't see much of what was going on, just saw the struggle, old bones and debris flying through the air. Sam screamed again. And again. The cooler flew into the monster. A briefcase as Sam must be trying to get away. Another scream. Dean pushed with everything he was worth. The cocoon gave. He looked down. The shell was softer where the brown soda had soaked it, cracking near the lodged bullet. He pushed some more. His hands worked, punched through. His pulse raced through his veins. "Awwwww!" He braced every muscle against the stuff, felt it giving. Sam screamed again, drawn out and horrible.

Another scream echoed through the cave. Different. Not Sam. Dean's face hitched up. The monster was staggering back, long fingers clawing at its throat. The cola did that?

The creature moved forward again, intent on its prey even during its own suffering.

With one final punch, Dean was through the cocoon, pushing it away. He fell to the ground, legs weak and uncooperative, streaking throughout with jolts of pain. He lunged forward anyway, snagged the propane torch Sam had set down and ran toward the fight, skidding to a stop directly in front of the beast. Between it and Sam. The creature's mouth was open. Perfect. Dean blasted away, going for the throat, hoping everything was neutralized and the fugly would at least burn from the inside out.

The creature stilled, slitted eyes huge, flames shooting into its mouth while it choked, gagged, gurgled, then simply slumped over. A cloud of dust flumed up around it.

Dean shut off the flame, breathing raggedly. He could hardly believe such an invincible thing had been brought down by cola and fire. He couldn't help the sloppy grin that swept over his face. Turning, he looked for his brother. And lost his grin.

Sam was sprawled on his back, half covered in bones and other gorish parts. Dean crouched beside him, his fingers automatically going to his brother's neck to check his pulse.

Sam swatted Dean's hands away. "I'm alive." He didn't sound all that alive. He sounded barely on the tip.

"If you say so." Dean looked around. "We're not out of the woods yet. This is going to be tricky." His gaze settled on Sam's ruined chest. Too much blood. The gash was too long and wide. It needed to be taken care of now. Sam's head sagged back, sliding into the pile of bones.

"Hey, hey. None of that." Dean pulled him back up, settled Sam's head on his knee. He cupped Sam's hand in his own, inspecting. Still intact, but bleeding profusely around the wrist.

Sam's eyes were barely focusing. "Hey," he whispered.

Dean leaned in close. "Yeah?"

"What are you going to name it?"

Dean rolled his eyes. That's what his kid brother wanted to know when he was on the verge of bleeding out? "Dead." He swiped a shaking hand across his face. "For now, I'm just calling it dead."

TBC

**Okay, peeps, I'm having a total brain-fart. For the life of me I can't come up with a suitable name that Dean would call this thing. I'm writing the next chapter now and would love to have a name by today. If you have any suggestions, leave me a comment with it, eh? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah, yeah, same drill: Don't own a thing or want to be supper. Thanks for the names, people. I've already incorporated a few. **

**Don't Wanna Be Dinner 3**

Dean stared at the ragged mess of torn flesh that was his brother's chest and couldn't form a coherent thought. He couldn't fix this. How the hell could he fix this? Sam needed medical attention fast, but they were out in the middle of a no man's land swamp at least three miles inside a freakin cave system and even if he could drag Sam out of there, the kid would bleed out long before they hit the surface. Dean had to fix him, right here, right now.

Hell.

John Winchester never won any awards for father of the year, but he'd damned well taught his sons how to make do in a crisis. _Determine what you're dealing with first._

Dean's natural instinct was to apply pressure to the wound, stop the bleeding, but there was so much damage and his hands were filthy.

_Determine what you're dealing with first._ "Okay, Sammy. I'm gonna take care of this." With that Dean became a whirl of action. He shifted Sam's head gently off his knee, pleased to note the kid's weary gaze was at least tracking him. He dashed over to their pack, knowing exactly what was in there he could use-holy water, big-ass-bladed knife, smaller stiletto knife, small first aid kit that had the curved needles, but not near enough surgical thread for this mess nor enough gauze bandages-dammit. Dean mentally went through what else they had on them as he carried the pack over—boots, boot laces, socks, they both wore belts, both had lighters—he snagged his flashlight off the floor, grabbed Sam's as well, dumped the load next to Sam and kept looking around the cave—he had his flask of whiskey of course, car keys, amulet, amulet string—his gaze landed on the hiker's fancy backpack. Thank you.

Dean ran across the cave, crunching bones beneath his feet, nearly slipped on something slimy that he didn't even want to stab a guess at what it was, grabbed the hiking pack and hauled it back through the disorder. Settling near Sam, he went through the pack, all the pockets. The outside was coated in dirt, but everything inside had remained exactly as the hiker had left it. Dean rummaged through it quickly, finding changes of clothes, clean socks, another flashlight, trail mix, old and hardened power bars, jerky, a mess kit, toilet paper, rain slicker, biodegradable soap, a few cans of pop-lid soups, girlie magazines—well, okay, everyone communes with nature in their own way—treated matches, Swiss army knife, and jackpot . . . a small fishing tackle with plenty of fishing line.

He flipped on the hiker's flashlight, surprised it still worked and set all three flashlights in the bone pile around Sam's head and shoulders, each angled to give him the best advantage of their light to work with.

_Determine what you're dealing with first. _Dean took a calming breath. He'd gathered the items quickly, but Sam was still bleeding and Dean couldn't see what was the worst of the problems. Sam's eyes remained on him and Dean smiled, proud that the kid was still hanging on, still fighting. "Okay, I'm gonna clean you up first, see what's going on." He used a little of the holy water and biodegradable soap to lather up his hands, wiping them dry on one of the hiker's shorts, then poured whiskey over his hands for good measure. Pushing Sam's torn T-shirt to either side, Dean used a clean shirt to begin mopping up the blood. It was bright red, thank God it was bright red. A brown tinge would have meant internal organs opened, damage he had no hope of dealing with. Dean pressed down on the wounds, trying to pinpoint where the most blood came from by forcing it.

Sam wrenched upward, or at least would have if he'd had the strength. He made it about half an inch off the ground before flopping back. His neck muscles strained around a raspy moan. "Deaaan."

"I know it hurts." Dean kept working, wiping away the pooling blood from ragged puckering skin. "I gotta find where the bleeder is. Gotta stop that." He kept up a running commentary of what he was doing. Sam squeezed his eyes tight. A lone tear spilled out, made a trail down the dirty skin, into the brown hair and he nodded, mouth clenched into a firm line that made everything inside of Dean want to run howling over to that damn swampzard's body and kick it over and over.

Instead, he looked away from his brother's face, couldn't concentrate around the pain he saw there and focused on the job at hand, just the job at hand. "I found it." He breathed. "I found it, Sammy. There's a hole . . ." Suddenly his voice gave out. He swallowed past the lump. "There's a hole . . . a little nick way down deep in one of these punture wounds from the monster's teeth . . ." Once he mopped the blood around it, he could see what was causing the flow easily, see the tiny tiny miniscule hole clearly around the ripped flesh. How was Sam even still alive? He needed a surgeon.

Despair washed over Dean. He didn't have the skill for this. He couldn't pour the blood Sam had already lost back into his brother_. Most wounds are just holes—holes made by bullets, holes made from knives, holes from teeth—different weapons, but they all do the same thing, Dean._ His dad's voice droned in his head. _They make holes. Find a way to patch up the hole. _

"Okay. Okay." He dropped the blood-soaked shirt on Sam's stomach, pulled out the lighter and needle. "I'm going to patch up this hole. It's just a small one. No worse than digging a bullet out, right?" He sterilized the needle, had a hell of a time threading the surgical thread with shaking slippery hands. Sam's eyes finally closed, his head settling farther into the bone pile, but Dean could feel each rise and fall of his chest with his fingers buried in Sam's shoulder, pushing and pulling the needle through the soft fleshy insides.

"Kay, kay, I think I got it." Dean wiped the inside of his elbow, the only relatively clean part of his arm, across his sweaty forehead. He let himself shift back for a moment before pressing another of the camper's shirts against his handiwork, soaking up blood, lifted the shirt away and held his breath as he watched to see if more pooled there.

His laugh echoed around the cave. "It's good, Sammy. It's holding. I think we did it." Now all he had to do was stop the rest of the bleeding, stitch up Sam's chest and wrist and hope to the highest heavens that the blood loss wasn't already taking his brother from him.

Then of course there was the chance of infection and who knew what bacteria that purple people eater had embedded in its fingernails. Or venom. Or . . . Dean gritted his teeth. He really needed the voice in his brain to shut the friggin hell up.

He wasn't done yet.

Unfolding the last clean shirt, Dean pressed it down along the wound that spanned from Sam's shoulder to flat stomach to soak up as much of the blood as he could. Gasping in a floundering breath, Sam jerked fully awake, arms slapping at the air.

"Easy there. Sam, stop."

Sam tried to shift away, but Dean held him put easily. Too easily, which scared the crap out of him.

"Ow, ow! Dean, stop. Please, sto . . . ooo . . . op."

Dean eased up the cloth, noting with satisfaction that most of the bleeding had stopped. "Hey, it's okay. I know it hurts like a mother, but I gotta do this."

"No, no, you don't. You really don't." Sam's chest was rising too high, too fast. His face was screwed up tight, making those half-circle wrinkles in his forehead. "I'm fine. It's okay. Dean."

"Sure you are, Sammy." Dean's heart was breaking, all the tiny pieces dropping to the pit of his hollow stomach.

_Watch for shock. Keep him warm. Keep him clean. Replace any fluids. Gee, thanks, dad. _They were well beyond shock. And how could he replace all that fluid? This was hopeless. Not hopeless. This was Sammy. His brother had to live, because . . . he just had to. This was not hopeless. Replace the fluids.

"Okay, I'm leaving your chest alone for now. We'll do this easy. I need you to drink something. Think you can do that?"

Sam's gaze was wary. And why wouldn't it be? It's not like Dean hadn't ever jammed a dislocated shoulder back into place before Sam was ready or shoved unwanted pills down his throat, holding his mouth and nose to force him to swallow. Finally Sam nodded.

"I'm going to lift you up a bit. Ready?"

This time Sam's nod came faster. Dean lifted his brother's head, tensed at the way a sudden lance of pain swept across the young features. He placed the holy water near the kid's lips.

Sam glanced up at him, confusion lowering his brows. "I'm . . . I'm not a demon." His eyes darted around the cave. "Wh-where are we? Wha's happening?"

Crap. Dean felt his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "I know you're not a demon. It's the water that's important. I need you to drink this water, as much as you can."

"Okay." Sam's eyes slid closed.

"Whoa, nuh-uh brother. Not until you drink something." Dean patted his sibling's cheek until the young hunter came around again.

"What?" Sam's nose scrunched. "It stinks. Where are we?"

Sighing, Dean pressed the bottle to Sam's lips, unwilling to play twenty questions. "Just drink. That's not a suggestion."

Sam complied, though his throat muscles worked sluggishly. Dean watched, ready to start massaging Sam's neck and force his muscles to pull down the liquid. "Just a little more. Come on, buddy. That's it."

Sam got several swallows down before the water just started dribbling down his chin. Dean looked at him. His brother was completely passed out. The water wasn't nearly enough, not filled with the protein Sam needed to replace the significant blood loss.

He shook his head, frustration and worry rising to overtake his emotions. He forcibly put a clamp on his fears. Too much to do. Gotta take care of Sammy.

Wrist next. Not much he could do about the punctures there. The teeth had missed the veins. That was something. Wrapping the hiker's sock around Sam's wrist, Dean slid the second sock over Sam's hand like a mitten to hold the other sock in place. Simple, but it worked.

Next he went to work on Sam's chest. Holding the jagged flesh together, Dean worked quickly, using the fishing line to stitch his younger sibling back together. He never once looked at Sam's face, shut out the whimpering moans as best he could to get this done in efficient detachment before Sam woke up again.

When he was finished, he took the flask and braced, knowing this would probably rouse Sam. But it needed to be done and Sam needed to wake up and take more water anyway. He tipped the flask.

Sam roared back to life, arching upward, then crashing back down, hands grabbing for his chest.

"No, Sam!" Dean grabbed the flailing arms. "You'll undo all my hard work. Stop, stop! Stitches, Sam. Stop."

He must have gotten through to him because Sam suddenly stilled, his hands locked onto Dean's arms, his gaze slipping onto the sock on his hand, the circle of red bleeding through. Dark eyebrows rose. "Wh-what's with the sock puppet?"

His own eyebrows rising, Dean merely shrugged.

Sam sagged back, would have fallen if Dean hadn't had him. "Oh, man. You didn't put lipstick on me again?"

"No, Sam."

"I don't feel so good."

"I know. But you'll feel better real soon. I promise. I need you to drink something." This time Dean opened up one of the pop-lid soups. Tomato. He brought it to Sam's lips, tilting it. After one swallow, Sam wrenched his head away, grimacing.

"No, Sammy. You have to drink all of it."

"It's gross. You drink it."

"We don't have a lot of options here." Dean squeezed Sam's arm, wishing he could as easily squeeze some coherency into his brother. At least he was awake and talking. That had to be a good sign, right? "Look, you've lost a lot of blood. So drink up."

Sam stared at him, forehead furrowed. Dean swore he could see the wheels in Sam's muddled brain trying to gain momentum. Not getting there, he looked to Dean for help. Even in his confused state, Sam's instincts ran to trust in Dean. Dean nodded encouragingly and nearly cried when Sam leaned forward and allowed him to hold the soup for him. Though he struggled with it, taking shallow and slow sips, Sam finished it off and the relief Dean felt over one stupid can of soup astonished him.

_Keep him warm. Keep him clean._

"Okay, Sammy. I'm gonna put bandages on this."

"Kay."

No complaints? He opened one of the bandages, held it across Sam's chest.

Sam stared down at it. "My stomach hurts."

"Yeah, I know." Dean taped the first bandage down, opened another one. "Whoa, whoa." Sam slipped out of his grasp, slumped over to his side. Grabbing a flashlight, Dean lifted Sam's eyelids. The pupils were too large. "Dammit, Sam."

Dean exhaled slowly. "All right. It's all right. You . . . you just rest. I'll take care of everything."

Unstrapping the sleeping bag from the back pack frame, Dean unrolled it. He'd been in enough hospitals to know how to roll someone over on his side and then back the other way to get clean sheets under him. He used the same method to get the clean inside of the unzipped sleeping bag under Sam. Settling himself behind his brother, back against the pile of bones, Dean pulled Sam against his chest, close where he could keep constant vigil on Sam's breathing and heartbeat to wait out the night.

He turned off two of the flashlights to conserve batteries and just held onto Sam, waking him every thirty minutes or so to get him to drink water or soup. He even attempted to soften up the power bars in chicken noodle broth, but Sam only choked those back up.

Between spaces of waking Sam, Dean pulled out his cell phone, played a few games, took several pictures of the swamp lizard for Bobby to document and pass around to other hunters. Eventually boredom had him picking up the hiker's skin magazine. He was fully absorbed in Miss January's riveting dreams of making it big on Broadway when he heard the crunch of bones underfoot, the whicker of a steamy exhalation.

His gaze flicked up where a large silhouette shuffled through the entranceway. A second creature. _You are frickin kidding me._

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**I own nothing of Supernatural, just love the show, the writing, and of course, the boys.**

**Don't Wanna Be Dinner 4**

Between spaces of waking Sam, Dean pulled out his cell phone, played a few games, took several pictures of the swamp lizard for Bobby to document and pass around to other hunters. Eventually boredom had him picking up the hiker's skin magazine. He was fully absorbed in Miss January's riveting dreams of making it big on Broadway when he heard the crunch of bones underfoot, the whicker of a steamy exhalation.

His gaze flicked up where a large silhouette shuffled through the entranceway. A second creature. _You are frickin kidding me._

Slowly, Dean set down the magazine and reached into the duffle bag for the longer wider-bladed of his knives. He didn't know how keen the monster's eyesight was, but since it seemed to be nocturnal and living in caves, he'd wager it saw better in the darkness, which meant the flashlight may be doing him a favor. While the light would be a trigger for the beast that something was different in its habitat, looking right into the beam would be unpleasant and as long as Dean remained still, he and Sam should be little more than shadows within the light that were too hard to look at.

As for the thing's sense of smell, sense of hearing? Well, the jury was still out on those. Hopefully by now, he and Sam reeked so badly of alkaline the chewbadca wouldn't notice they were there.

Dean watched the beast move into the cavern. Damn the thing was quiet. How such a large creature could move so silently was almost beautiful. Small wonder no other hunters had ever come across the black lagoons, just chalked them up as rugarus or wendigos from the same patterns of eating people. It was just his and Sam's screwed up luck to be the first ones to track into the feeding ground, coming at the swamp lizard desperately unprepared.

The beast came closer, head high, nostrils flaring as though sniffing the humid air. Crap. Dean's free arm pressed against Sam's chest. He didn't like the position they were in at all. Dean sat behind Sam, supporting him with his own body, which left Sam exposed and completely vulnerable. His instinct to remain still, to not alert the monster with his movement, warred with Dean's need to move out from behind his sibling, shield him with his own body.

Gray scales crossed in front of them, gargantuan clawed feet passed inches in front of Sam's boots. Dean held in a breath. His palm curled more tightly around the hilt of his knife. Sam stirred against him, rousing out of unconsciousness. _Shit. Not now, Sammy._ Dean pressed his arm down more tightly against Sam's chest.

The swamp creature drew past them, stopping at the first beast's body sprawled only a few feet away where it had fallen. The long neck lowered, muscled back curved as the head dropped toward the corpse, sniffing, probing. Dean's pulse thundered through his veins. He flinched when the beast let out a shrieking garble, neck craned back toward the ceiling, arms flexed, wreathing in scaly muscles. Sam moaned. His head rolled against Dean's shoulder. Dean clamped his hand across his brother's mouth, stifling a second moan. "Shhhhh, shh," he whispered at Sam's temple, cutting off the moment the beast's bleating quieted. Unable to see Sam's face, he could only hope the kid was awake and coherent enough to understand.

Keeping his hand across Sam's lips, Dean held them both perfectly still, watching what the beast was going to do next. Leave, that would be nice. The creature's head dipped again, probing once more at its mate or whatever—nope, Dean winced at the first crack of bone. Not probing, not mourning. Eating.

Not three feet away from them the freakin creature of the black lagoon was chomping down on the other beast! The tearing and cracking and gurgling and sucking was loud, so close. Dean tamped down the bile rising in his throat. Not good, not even a little bit. The impulse to grab up Sammy and run for the exit was overwhelming. His muscles were wound tight, arm holding the knife bunched and ready . . . to do what? Take on an invincible creature three times his weight with a blade that probably wouldn't penetrate the first layer of scales? They'd been in impossible situations before, but this time they were so pathetically screwed, it was hysterical.

Damn.

Dean couldn't think of any possible way out of this. Their only hope lay in the fact that the thing wasn't aware of them yet and just might, just might leave once it gorged itself on the dead beast.

"Mmmmmph."

Dean froze. The creature's head lifted, a string of ropey intestines hanging between its teeth. Sam moaned again, his leg jerked, sock-covered hand slid off his stomach and flopped to the ground.

The creature's head snapped in their direction. Mouth widened in a shriek and it jerked forward like a bullet.

Shoving Sam to the side, Dean threw himself forward like a runner coming off his mark, slashing at the lizardman's underbelly, jarring his arm with the impact. The beast kept on going, running across Sam tangled in the sleeping bag who Dean wasn't even sure the beast knew was there before sliding and spinning around to come back at Dean. The collision knocked him off his feet. The hit against the stone wall jarred his shoulders. Dean found himself on the debris covered floor, his knife yards away, wobbling where it landed tip down in a pile of—not sure what it was a pile of, gooey slimy gunk—with a four hundred pound human-croc hybrid bearing down on him.

Scrambling for the knife, he knew he was not going to make it.

And a wall of flame shot across the creature's back.

There was Sammy, wavering on his knees, still tangled in the bag, propane torch clutched in his shaking hands. Of all the moments for Sam to be awake and understand what was going on! His brother's sense of timing was gonna get him killed. The fire didn't do anything but distract the beast and give Dean the chance he needed to grab the knife and run.

Except when the propane was spent, the enraged monster changed direction. It jumped onto Sam, knocking him back. The lizard's shrieks and Sam's scream echoed off the walls, blending together. Dean's joined their's. "Nooooooo!"

He flew toward the ruckus, plunged the blade into the back of the monster's neck, but the tip barely penetrated. Lifting it high, he hacked again, over and over. Bits of scale flew up, but the monster kept swinging, slashing, digging for Sam who was buried, squirming deeper into the old bones. Dean wasn't slowing the beast in the least. He changed tactics and instead swung the blade into the arm. The monster squealed. Dean swung again. His knife went halfway through, embedding in bone or muscle, and the creature spun away, wrenching the blade out of the hunter's grasp. Head thrown back, the lizard screeched and ran to the opposite side of the cave where it slammed into the wall, trying to force the knife out.

Wasting no time, Dean dug through the bones, found Sam's leg. The kid had squirmed forward, nearly out of the spot the monster had been digging through, thank God. Gaining his brother's shoulders, Dean hauled the younger man up. "Can you walk?" He didn't wait for an answer, just heaved Sam up over his shoulders in a fireman carry—the wounds on Sam's chest would just have to suffer—and ran.

Damn, his brother was heavy. And Dean was so very tired. Yet he sprinted for the way out like the devil was on his tail. The tunnel was so low, Sam's back bumped the ceiling several times though Dean crouched as much as he could. There was barely room to maneuver the kid's long body. Dean had to let Sam's legs take the brunt, slapping against one side of the wall, rather than risk his head. A shriek streamed out behind them and Dean faltered. Sam moaned, his arms flopping around Dean, the stupid sock on his hand, bloody and slipping off, slid down, barely hanging off the long fingers. Dean's heart felt like it was going to explode right out of his chest. His breathing was heavy, painful. He felt wetness coat his shirt. Sam's blood. Neither of them could go on.

"Whoa. Gotta rest." Dean bent, lowered Sammy to the floor. Sam looked up at him, his eyes pain-filled and glassy. The kid's chest was bleeding again. The little jaunt had probably torn out most of the stitches. Nothing he could do about it now. Dean remained bent over, hands on his knees, struggling to draw much needed air into his overburdened lungs.

The growl carried through the tunnels. Sonofabitch. Dean looked back at the swamp lizard. Its arm was dangling, the knife still wedged in it as the giant creature came after them, and now it was pissed.

But Dean was pissed too. These things not only tried to eat him but had torn Sammy into mincemeat. Not one of these uglies was getting away with shredding up his brother.

Straightening, fists bunched, Dean turned.

He knew it wasn't the wisest course of action, but he also knew Sam wouldn't last much longer. This had to end now.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Ya'll threw out some fun names, but the lovely Knyghtshade lobbed one that truly fit what would come out of Dean's mouth. Wish I had a prize. **

**As always, just enjoying myself, but don't own anything.**

**Don't Wanna Be Dinner 5**

The growl carried through the tunnels. Sonofabitch. Dean looked back at the swamp lizard. Its arm was dangling, the knife still wedged in it as the giant creature came after them, and now it was pissed.

But Dean was pissed too. These things not only tried to eat him but had torn Sammy into mincemeat. Not one of these uglies was getting away with shredding up his brother.

Straightening, fists bunched, Dean turned.

He knew it wasn't the wisest course of action, but he also knew Sam wouldn't last much longer. This had to end now.

The one advantage he had was that the narrow tunnel didn't give the giant beast any room to maneuver.

Full on, Dean lunged forward, ramming into the thick legs and skidding to his knees as he grabbed hold of the protruding knife, yanking it with his momentum as he scrambled beneath the monster to the other side, and _oh my flaming hell_ the beast's arm came with him, severed through the bone. His first cut back in the cavern must have gone in harder than he'd thought.

Behind the beast now who was banging its sides into the walls, trying to turn and get at him, Dean yanked the arm off the blade and began hacking into the monster's back, its sides, anywhere as it twisted, just hacking and hacking. It wasn't skillful. It wasn't precise. It was packed in rage, fueled by fury.

"Dean!" Sam screamed hoarsely, barely audible beneath the creature's shrieks. "Deaaaaan!"

The beast screeched, trying to get at the hunter cleaving into its back, but with only one arm and unable to turn, so far Dean managed to dodge the wicked nails and teeth. He kept swinging the blade, his arms and shoulders a ragged mass of aching awfulness. Scales flew around him and then yahzee! The blade lifted up bloody. He'd gotten through the hard exterior. He swung the knife again and the beast stiffened, letting out a bone-shattering scream that reverberated across the walls. Dean hacked again, picking up momentum in the softer flesh.

Enraged, frightened, wounded, the lizardman flung itself back and forth. Its meaty shoulder caught Dean, hurling him against the stone. Dean went down. His vision went cloudy. Dark gray scales, dripping in red liquid grew fuzzy around the edges. Dean shook his head to clear it, lost more vision and nearly blacked out entirely, though he found if he held his head at an angle the haziness receded. He so did not have time for this!

The long arm reached back behind the stout legs, slashing out toward Dean. Between the legs, Dean saw Sam, struggling to get up, crashing back down to the floor.

"Stay back, Sammy! Don't you dare get in the middle of this!"

Sam tried to lift up again. His arms shook just holding his upper body off the floor. Damn kid, listen to him for once!

"Sam!" Dean roared, his vision swimming. He scooted back out from under the hybrid's stomping foot. Screaming in rage, the beast smashed against the wall. It wasn't coordinated enough to get Dean by going backwards, it couldn't reach him past its own thick body, it couldn't turn—

"Dean!"

But it could go forward. The huge head swept up at Sam's raspy call. It launched forward like a whip.

_Shit._ Pushing himself up, Dean raced after it, his vision closing in on itself as he blacked out.

He came to, sprawled on his stomach, hand closed around the hilt of his blade, his brother's cry a throaty rasp coating the air. Dean opened his eyes, lifted his head carefully, testing to make sure he didn't lose consciousness with the movement again. His vision remained clear so he pulled himself up, assessing the situation on the move, anger flaring hotly through his veins as he saw what was going on.

He must not have been out for more than a few seconds because the monster was just a few feet away. It had swept Sam up, holding his brother off the ground by his ankle. At least with only one arm it hadn't torn into him again, but the mouth was lowering, jaw cranked wide, and those piercing teeth were dipping to clamp around Sam's leg. Sam was pawing at the ground, leaving large grooves in the dirt.

Without thought for himself, running, Dean leapt onto the monster's back, piggy-back and plunged the blade straight down into the fleshy opening he'd made past the scales earlier. Screeching, the lizard arched, head swiveling back toward the older hunter, grating along the wall, teeth snapping. Dean held on the knife hilt, twisting, pushing it farther in like a giant corkscrew. "You will not . . . eat . . . my brother . . . you . . . stupid . . . stupid . . . son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch! Auuuuuurgh!"

Every vein in Dean's head filled to bursting. Heat and Sweat poured over his face. Finally the creature went still. Its knees buckled, folding in on itself and it went down, its chest crashing over Sam's legs, the head and damaging teeth missing his thigh by inches. Still hanging on its back, his face only a foot away from Sammy's, Dean's gaze met his brother's. "You okay?"

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "No." His voice squeaked like he was hitting puberty again. "Dean. What you did . . . Are you insane?"

"Yeah." Dean groaned out a gasp. His throat was raw, voice raspy. "I think so. Yeah, I must be." He drew in a growling breath. Finger by finger, he uncurled his nerve-numbing hold on the blade and tried to yank if free. It wasn't budging so he left it there and climbed over the fugly to kneel by Sam.

He frowned at the large body caved in over Sam's legs. "Well this ain't good."

"Huh." Sam's voice still had that scary off-pitch to it. "What m-makes you think that?"

Dean studied Sam. His skin was way too pale and dry. Eyes glassy. "Oh, I don't know, having a ten ton crocodildo between your legs can't feel great."

There's what he was looking for, that face that let Dean know Sam was still working on all cylinders. His brother's eyes squinted, brows drawing tightly together while his lips parted in exasperation. "Bitch."

"Ha-ha, Sammy." Dean laughed, patting his sibling's cheek. "Let's get this ugly piece of luggage off you. Does anything feel broken?"

"No." Sam's lips twisted into a frown. "I don't think so. Kind of numb."

"Okay. This shouldn't hurt then." Bracing his back against the tunnel wall, Dean used his legs to shove the monster off. He got it back, kind of on its side where it filled up the passage, but felt it roll forward again. With another surge of effort, Dean pushed his legs out more, nearly straightening them. Damn, he was tired. Every stitch of his body ached, but he pushed out and the beast slid off, freeing Sam, except . . . could nothing go their way?

The black lagoon's long spindly fingers remained clamped around Sam's ankle.

"Really?" Dean went to lift one of the gray razor-nailed fingers, but it was locked down tight. He came at it from a different direction, digging his own hand between it and Sam's flesh. "This whole hunt is starting to get on my nerves."

Sam lifted his head, trying to see. "Starting to . . .?"

Dean pressed his lips together, pulling hard. One finger snapped back. Well, that was something. He went to work on the next one.

"Dean."

The quiet inflection of Sam's tone shot a warning to Dean's gut. He looked at Sam and then followed his brother's gaze past the fallen lizardman where large liquid eyes stared at them from another beast moving up through the tunnel. And behind it, another silhouette . . . and another.

Sam's dry hand slipped onto Dean's forearm. "You're not gonna jump on all of their backs, are you?"

Dean shook his head, pried the second finger off Sam's ankle. "No, not this time. What do you say we get out of here and call the one-man-cavalry Bobby to clear out the rest of these things?"

Sam nodded fervently. "Helluva plan."

Grinning, Dean opened up the last two fingers and pulled Sam's ankle out, avoiding the sharp nails. "Think you can walk, cause I got to tell you, I don't think I can carry you around anymore."

"Away from those things? Get me up and I can run."

Which was an incredible lie, but right now Dean wasn't going to argue the point. He pulled Sam up, hands fisted in his blood-soaked shirt, and reaffirmed what he'd already known, that Sam didn't even have enough strength to stand, but tucked him against his side anyway, arm dragged across his own beaten shoulders and began pulling the heavy kid down the passage, taking three or four steps to every one of Sam's. It was one of those keep moving, just place one foot ahead of the other, keep upright and stay ahead of the monsters kind of journey.

They crashed into the sunlight, wounded, beaten, torn and bloody as hell, looking and smelling more like the swamp monsters than themselves. Stumbling to the ground together, Dean pulled out the phone, praying for reception, shaking his fists triumphantly in the air when he saw the bars and made the call even as he prodded Sam who was totally down for the count to get up and move ass before the mangators came out of that tunnel.

#

Sharp pain exploded in Sam's stomach. He banged out of sleep like falling off a cliff.

"Oh, sorry, man. Didn't mean to wake you. Just changing your bandages." Dean's face floated into view, bandaged at his temple and just below the hairline behind one ear, forehead furrowed into a grimace. "Just go back to sleep. You need it."

"No, the lizards." Sam tried to pull himself up, but barely managed lifting his head. "Got to help you. Dean, don't charge into them." He grasped his brother's sleeve, bunching his fists into the material to keep Dean from leaving.

"Whoa, slow down there, hero." Steady hands curled around Sam's forearms, grounding him. "Take a look around. We're okay. Lizards have gone bye bye."

Sam felt his chest stop heaving, his breathing slow. He glanced around. They were in a darkened room, nicer than their usual stays. Muted light came from a fluted lamp on a cherry wood dresser. Sam lay on a bed, fluffed and fragrant pillows behind his head. Dean sat on the bed beside him, a water basin, tape and gauze spread out on the closest nightstand. Gauze circled Sam's wrist just below an IV needle taped down along his arm. He followed the red tubing up to the little machine pumping blood from the plastic IV bag that was hanging from an upside down hanger attached to the uncovered lamp.

They'd made it. They'd both made it. Somehow Dean had gotten them out of there, and why in the world would he ever question that his resourceful brother couldn't? Immensely relieved, Sam sank back into the pillows. His gaze sidled back to his brother. "Gone bye bye? What are you—two?"

"That was solely for your benefit, Sammy. Didn't know how fragile your mind would be waking up."

"Bite me."

"Sad choice of words, brother." Eyebrows waggling, Dean lifted a stiff and soiled bandage from Sam's chest. They both stilled at Sam's flinch, and both inspected the damage. The wound looked horrible, puckered and wide. Sam's throat was closing around a lump until Dean patted his arm. "That's gonna make a beauty of a scar. Man, the stories you can tell the women. They'll never believe what really happened. Have to come up with something awesome like leaping out of a burning house as a fire fighter. After saving hundreds of people. Wish I had one that big."

Sam's face puckered. "Dean." He shook his head at how Dean's ridiculousness put everything into perspective.

The lock turned in the doorknob and the door swung open followed by one sweaty and grime-stained Bobby Singer. The old man's gaze immediately swept to the bed first. "Hey, kid. Good to see you up."

"Hi, Bobby." Sam looked away, uncomfortable beneath the old hunter's scruntiny.

"Retrieved your duffle." Bobby passed the bag to Dean. "Sam's gun too."

Dean dropped the bag on the floor. "Thanks, Bobby. How'd it go?"

"It took me and six other hunters to clean out the nest. There were four more of the beasts. Used mercuric acid and fire on the lot of 'em. Good times. Don't give me that look." Bobby sank down into the chair next to Sam. "I didn't let the other hunters know who gave me the tip, though they all wanted to know what the hell kind of name that was for something we hunt."

Dean grinned, completely full of himself and wasn't it a glorious sight to behold.

The grin was contagious. Sam found its duplicate slide onto his own face as he couldn't resist asking, "What did you name it?"

Bobby's face went bland. He folded his arms, waiting for Dean to answer.

Even white teeth flashed. "Swampzilla."


End file.
